


Tune Right In

by justanothersong



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Love songs, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pop Culture, Radio, Reader-Insert, Sexting, Stage Names, lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: Your mystery caller was another reason you stuck it out at WKQX and kept up the Broken Hearts show on weekends. He’d started calling a few months before, admitting that he hadn’t been exposed to much modern music growing up and wanted to learn. He had a heart on the mend too, the need for catharsis being the reasoning behind his first late night call. It was one of the few listener calls that made you tear up, the story of a man who had fallen in love to lose the girl, finding her again only when she was gravely ill. He had called you for the first time a few weeks after she had passed, and you still got calls from listeners asking to be put in touch with the sad man who had lost his first love, certain they were the ones who could heal his broken heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have too many WiPs to be starting something new, and yet...

_Good evening loyal listeners, it’s just about eleven o’clock on Saturday night and you know what that means here on WKQX, it’s time for the Late Night Broken Hearts Club. As always, I am your host, Roxy Carmichael, here to take your song requests and hear your stories so please, give me a call. We’ll kick off tonight with a special request from my producer, a survivor of the Broken Hearts Club who is celebrating the birth of his first daughter. Here is the song he named her after, a sing-a-long favorite of mine and yours, Sweet Caroline._

The music started to play and you smiled, casting a cursory glance at the now un-lit ‘On Air’ sign on the wall, leaning back in your seat and away from your mic. Your producer, Dave, grinned and flashed a thumbs-up from the mixing room outside of your booth; he would be leaving the show soon, late nights no longer a workable schedule for the new dad, and you understood that much. If it was a regular gig, it wouldn’t be feasible for you either, but you could sacrifice a late Saturday night with ease without affecting your day-job of pushing paper in an accounting firm. 

You’d been working at WKQX since you were in college, first interning and then hosting and co-hosting various small shows on the station. You loved the work but the pay wasn’t great and you’d had to look elsewhere after a while; your bosses understood and gave you a late night gig to keep you on the payroll while your main job took up your days. Your name wasn’t really Roxy, of course -- you had chosen your on-air name in tribute to an old Winona Ryder movie you had loved as a kid -- so no one in your office was any the wiser that it was you playing sad love songs and consoling listeners through their sob stories every Saturday.

About thirty seconds into the song, one of your phone lines lit up and you smiled again, knowing exactly who it would be. Dave made an exaggerated eye-roll through the glass separating your small booth from his sound mixing room and you flipped him the bird in response, punching the blinking red button for the open line immediately after.

“You’re on with Roxy,” you announced, though you knew who the caller would be.

“I have to say, this isn’t a sing-a-long favorite of mine,” a deep, amused voice responded over the line, and you couldn’t help but grin. It was him.

“Of course not. My sheltered sweetheart doesn’t know his music history,” you replied with a laugh. “Yet, anyway. I’m working on it for you, baby.”

“My roommate does keep wondering where I heard about power ballads,” he responded with a snicker.

Your mystery caller was another reason you stuck it out at WKQX and kept up the Broken Hearts show on weekends. He’d started calling a few months before, admitting that he hadn’t been exposed to much modern music growing up and wanted to learn. He had a heart on the mend too, the need for catharsis being the reasoning behind his first late night call. It was one of the few listener calls that made you tear up, the story of a man who had fallen in love to lose the girl, finding her again only when she was gravely ill. He had called you for the first time a few weeks after she had passed, and you still got calls from listeners asking to be put in touch with the sad man who had lost his first love, certain they were the ones who could heal his broken heart.

And you understood why they did. The way he had spoken about her had you crying for his loss and wistful for the kind of love you could hear in his voice.

So you kept it up, spun your sad little love songs every Saturday night, hoping to hear from your mystery caller who rarely disappointed. Dave had teased you about it, an edge of warning to his words: you don’t flirt with callers, and you don’t get close to them. You’d encountered more than one stalker over your years in broadcast 

But there was something different there, in his voice, in the way he spoke to you. You weren’t afraid of letting him get closer. It felt safe. It felt right.

Which was ridiculous, because he was just a voice on the line, probably killing time at a late night job by chatting with the chick on the radio.

“Anything in particular you’d want to hear tonight, baby?” you asked, not even attempting to hide the flirtatious lilt to your voice. You couldn’t help it; he brought it out in you.

“Hmm,” he murmured, thinking it over. “I liked that one you played last week. ‘I Remember You’?”

“Oooh, Skid Row. Nice choice. Tell you what, I already have a request list over email but I’ll jump that one to the top of the list, just for you baby,” you replied, fiddling with your controls to queue up the song.

He chuckled over the line. “You’re so good to me, Roxy,” he told you with a pleased sigh, and you couldn’t help but smile. He only knew you by your on-air moniker, and you called him only ‘baby’, or ‘honey’, or the occasional ‘sweetheart’, because he had never given you his real name. 

It was a funny sort of flirtation, you supposed, but you enjoyed it.

“Of course I am,” you replied with a laugh. “Who else keeps me company all night long?”

He laughed and let you go to continue the show; you knew he’d be calling back to say goodnight before it was over.

_Now we have one going out to someone special, reaching back to 1989 to a track of Skid Row’s self-titled album. Let’s get to mending our broken hearts together with ‘I Remember You’..._

~*~

Just across town in the relative quiet of his apartment, Steve sighed softly, a small smile on his face as he settled back against his pillow. He reached over and turned the dial on the old transistor radio he had found in a thrift shop, arching the volume up just a tick, then crossed his hands behind his head.

He kept his cell phone just beside the radio, well within reach for when he’d call back in a few hours to wish you goodnight -- if he didn’t call before then, just to chat.


	2. Chapter 2

February brought with it more cold and snow than you could ever remember seeing that time of year. It left you wishing that you owned your own car for the first time since moving to the city. Under most circumstances, you were as content as everyone else to use the subway to get around, but tromping through ankle-deep snow and slip-sliding on hidden patches of ice had left you disenchanted with public transportation. 

You were cold, the legs of your jeans damp, and your ankle was sore from where you’d twisted it to avoid falling on a particularly lethal stretch of ice just outside of the studio building, leaving you in a fairly dour mood. It was the last show before Valentine’s Day, which meant your phone lines would be buzzing all night; the station always gave you an extra hour before and after a holiday, knowing that your listeners would be calling and emailing in droves. Without a valentine of your own for the third year running, you weren’t feeling all that festive.

_The snow is still falling, the temperature is dropping, but it’s cozy and warm here tonight at the WKQX. We’re here to listen to your stories and play the songs to mend some of those broken hearts, all by request, and on air for an extra hour tonight. You know what that means folks, we’re coming up on that one day of the year that can be hell for those of us still nursing a wounded heart: Valentine’s Day. So give me a call and I’ll play your song, and we’ll all lend you an ear if you need to talk. I’m your host, Roxy Carmichael, and this the the Valentine’s Day edition of the Late Night Broken Hearts Club._

You started the show off with a little Fleetwood Mac, and sighed, leaning back in your chair. Your new producer, Karen, offered you a small smile through the glass that separated your booth from hers, and you returned the gesture. You didn’t know her very well as yet, but she was clearly good at her job and had been friendly from the start.

Unfortunately, Dave had shared with her the tale of your mysterious regular caller and she had expressed the same about of skepticism as her predecessor. You paid it little mind, still smiling when the call light would blink and you’d hear that familiar voice on the other end of the line.

“So I finally saw that movie, the one where you got your name,” he said by way of greeting when you answered his call.

“Oh yeah?” you replied. “And what did you think?”

“It was interesting,” he told you. “A little odd. And I’m not really sure if it was that much of a happy ending? But I still kind of liked it.”

You laughed softly. “That’s sort of the hallmark of the Winona Ryder oeuvre,” you told him. “You think that one is off, wait til you see Heathers.”

He gave a low chuckle. “I’ve heard about that one,” he replied.

“So it’s Valentine’s Day, baby. Everyone else is out on the town with their sweethearts. What’s a guy like you doing calling into a show like mine?” you teased, not even bothering to drop the flirtatious note from your voice as you spoke.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be, doll,” he told you with a sigh, and the rustling sounds that came over the line made you think he must be settling back in a chair, or even on his bed. “Look forward to it every week.”

“I guess we have a standing date, then,” you said.

“I like to think of it that way, Roxy,” he admitted with another contented sigh. “Would break my heart a little if you didn’t.”

“Well we can’t have that, baby, now can we?” you said with a laugh. “My business is healing old wounds, not making new ones. Anything you want to hear tonight?”

“Hmm,” he pondered, voice low and deep enough on the short syllable to send a small shiver down your spine. “I don’t suppose you have something like ‘My Funny Valentine’?”

“I think that’s a little too old school, even for me,” you told him with a small sigh. He seemed to have a penchant for the classics, very few of which a modern pop station carried. “How about I pick something out for you? I promise you’ll like it.”

“You could always just sing it for me,” he teased, and you chuckled in response.

“No one wants to hear my voice on air, unless I’m introducing the next track,” you told him with a laugh.

“Maybe I give you my number then, and you can call and sing it just for me,” he replied, and you drew in a sharp breath. Realizing that he may have overstepped, he began to backtrack. “I mean, I’m not pushing -- you don’t have to… I know, you don’t really know me and I…”

“I have only a couple seconds before I’m back on air,” you replied quickly. “Let me jot down your number and I’ll see what I can do.”

_Thanks for sticking it out with me tonight, folks, I know this isn’t an easy one for any of us. That last one went out to someone special, and if you didn’t catch the title, it was ‘Smile’ by Uncle Kracker. I’m heading out for the night, so I’ll leave you with the most requested song of the evening, going out from too many to name to just as many who deserve it, this is Alanis Morissette with -- yep, you guessed it -- 'You Oughta Know'._

You bid Karen goodnight and, watching the snow continuing to fall as you walked towards the building’s large glass doors, you sighed and decided to hail a cab rather than brave the subway at such a late hour in this weather. Settled into the backseat, you took a deep breath to settle the nerves rattling around your stomach, and pulled out your cell phone.

If Matt Damon could do it, you could too… right?

~*~

“So stupid,” Steve grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed shut, stretched out against his pillows. The radio was still playing softly, the angry anti-love song that had signaled the end of the Broken Hearts show having faded into some mindless pop he was sure he had heard before but couldn’t name if he tried.

He had pushed too hard, he reasoned. Medical experimentation and nearly a century in the arctic had done very little to make him any smoother with the dames, it would seem.

Bucky and Sam teased him, for crushing on a voice on the radio. He didn’t even know what you looked like, the station website having only a logo for your show in place of your image on its information pages. But he talked to you every week, long conversations off the air while you played song after song, and you always sent one special out to him. 

He didn’t even know your real name, and he had asked you to call him. He felt like such a fool, even though you had taken down his number -- or at least pretended to.

With a sigh, he turned off the radio and reached to turn out the light on his bedside table. Maybe he could make it up to you next week, or at least apologize again. He was just about to turn over to sleep when he cell phone began to ring.

Steve frowned in the dark, not recognizing the number, but he answered it, just in case -- in his line of work, emergency calls could come in from anywhere.

“Hello?” he asked, voice quiet and mindful of Bucky, no doubt sleeping on the other side of their shared wall.

A familiar soft voice, nervous but sweet, responded.

“My funny valentine… sweet comic valentine… you make me smile with my heart…”


	3. Chapter 3

You never would have guessed that Valentine’s Day would leave you in such a good mood. When you’d finished your song, your mystery caller had sighed over the line and remarked softly, “Is there anything about you that isn’t perfect?”

Flushing red in the back of the taxi, you couldn’t suppress a grin; the driver caught your eye in the rearview mirror and gave you a kindly smile, more likely than not thinking you completely twitterpated and chatting with your sweetheart. He would have been half right, anyway. You knew it was foolish, but you couldn’t help it -- you were falling for him, and falling hard.

You talked all through the night. At first, it was only meant to be for the duration of your taxi ride, but then he had remarked that he wouldn’t be any kind of gentleman if he didn’t stay with you to the walk to your door. From then on, you simply hadn’t wanted to hang up. You watched the sun rise with his voice in your ear and a smile on your face.

“There’s gotta be something I can call you, baby,” you said with a sigh, knowing you’d have to get at least a little sleep before running a few weekend errands and would have to hang up soon. “Feeling a little silly, just callin’ you ‘baby’ all the time, without having a name. Even a fake one.”

He hummed in response. “I guess you’re right,” he agreed after a moment. “Not that I mind bein’ called your baby one bit, doll.”

You giggled at that, actually giggled like a schoolgirl, unable to help yourself. “Can’t say I mind it all that much either, though it would be nice to change it up a little.”

He paused a moment before saying “How about ‘Steve’?”

“Steve?” you repeated. “Hmm. I like it. Nondescript, but classic. Steve it is.”

He laughed. “S’pose we should both be getting on with our day. The sun’s up, the city’s coming back to life.”

“And I’m about to crawl into bed,” you countered, yawning as you stretched. “Goodnight, Steve. And good morning.”

“Good morning, Roxy. And goodnight,” Steve told you in reply. “Thanks for being my valentine.”

 

By Monday, you still found yourself humming the old Valentine tune to yourself at your desk. Your office job was nothing to shout about, mostly mindless drudgery and pushing paper in another downtown skyrise, but with your spirits lifted it seemed to pass by quickly and pleasantly. Your co-workers even seemed to notice, commenting here and there on a spring in your step and a smile on your face when you thought no one was looking. You laughed it off and insisted nothing had changed, but even they seemed to know you were fibbing.

You hadn’t even realized that you were singing to yourself when another girl in your department sidled up to your desk. You weren’t even sure how long she was there, arms crossed and smiling as she watched you reconcile some petty cash invoices in the company software, humming and murmuring a line here and there.

“Don’t change a hair for me… hmm hmm hmmmmm hmm-hmm…” 

“Okay, spill,” she suddenly demanded. “Who is it?”

You glanced up in surprise, not having noticed her presence at all, and blinked owlishly as your gaze reset from staring at a bright computer screen to gazing up in the fluorescent lighting.

“Oh… hey Lilly, did you need something?” you asked.

She snorted. “Nu-uh. You don’t fool me. Somebody’s been getting laid and since it’s not me, I need details.”

You laughed. You liked Lilly; she was one of the younger people in the office, very bright and cheerful. You were never quite sure what color hair she’d come in with -- lately, it was shades of violently bright orange -- or if her devotion to fashion would have her in skirts or suits. Many people in your office kept to themselves, but Lilly was a veritable social butterfly and you enjoyed chatting with her.

“I am not getting laid,” you laughed, dropping your voice so that no one in the next cubicles could hear you. “Still single as always, I’m afraid.”

“Sure you are,” Lilly replied, arching one perfectly drawn-on eyebrow. “That’s why you’ve been singing love songs under your breath all day. Obviously you’re hung up on someone, and I’m in such a dry spell that I need to live vicariously through you. So spill now, babe, or we’re getting drinks tonight and I’ll pry it out of you one mojito at a time.”

“No to the spilling, yes to the mojitos,” you replied, and shooed her away from your desk. “Now go, I have a stack of petty cash receipts taller than you to go through and if we want to leave this place at five, I need to get back to work.”

“Whatever you say, Valentine Girl!” Lilly called out, and sauntered back to her own cubicle, sashaying her hips as she went.

You managed to keep your mouth shut, no matter how much rum and muddle mint leaves Lilly tried to ply you with. Not a detail passed your lips, but you knew that your smiles had given you away; a few others from the office had joined you at the bar and there seemed to be some betting taking place on when exactly Lilly would wheedle out the information from you, but you paid it little mind.

Years had passed and not one of them knew about your gig moonlighting at WKQX. There was no way they would get you to spill the beans about Steve.

Lilly offered to share a taxi with you, as she lived in a building only a few blocks from yours, and you were happy to accept. You were tipsy and the weather had yet to improve, so the subway was definitely out of the question. Feeling a little brave on the ride home, you snuck out your phone as Lilly complained loudly about last minute 1099’s being issued at the office and sent a short text to the newest number you had saved.

** >>Goodnight, Steve :) **

You had just unlocked your door when your phone buzzed with a response.

** >>Goodnight, Roxy ;) **

You fell asleep that night with a smile on your face.

 

March brought with it less snow but dropping temperatures, and with it a sudden silence that left you startled. There had been a few texts back and forth the week following Valentine’s Day, though you hadn’t gotten the courage screwed up to attempt another call. You thought you’d hear from him that coming Saturday night.

You always heard from him on Saturdays.

Except, it would seem, this one. 

And the next. And the next. By the time four weeks had passed, you had begun to feel a little cold and hollow inside. Maybe it had been some kind of joke? Or perhaps you’d come on too strong? Maybe he just decided that after such a long, intimate conversation, he didn’t want to know you after all. You couldn’t figure it out.

_Well, listeners, March came in like a lion this year but it looks to be going out the same way. The wind howling outside is bitter and cold, but we’re trying to stay warm and keep our spirits up here at the Late Night Broken Hearts Club. That last song, one of our favorites around here, the Temptations’ classic ‘My Girl’, went out from Sam to Jess. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could sure use a little sunshine in my life with all these gray clouds right about now. Let’s keep it up with Jimmy Cliff’s ‘I Can See Clearly Now’ and, baby, wherever you are, I hope you have nothing but blue skies._


	4. Chapter 4

The Late Night Broken Hearts Club began purely by accident. You were still interning in those days, set to cover a late night shift at WKQX when the regular jock quit rather suddenly; the station thought nothing of letting an intern take the slot until they figured out a regular solution, and you had been first to volunteer.

You’d been so excited. They let you leave early, to get a little sleep before your cover shift, and you were nearly bouncing on your heels to share the news with your boyfriend. Catching him in bed with the housewife who lived across the hall hadn’t really been in your plans for the day. After all of the shouting was over, you spent several hours at a hole-in-the-wall bar, leaving you tipsy and tottering by the time you showed up at the station.

Your heart was broken. You’d loved him -- you’d really loved him. New York had been his idea, and you risked everything in following him there, hitting the reset button on your life and starting anew in a strange city. And he’d blamed your ambition, the long hours you were working to keep the both of you afloat while he searched for a job, for seeking affection elsewhere.

Angry and hurting, you’d shared your story with whoever might be listening, and something amazing happened: the started calling in, to tell you their own tales of woe, and the Late Night Broken Hearts Club was born. It had been going strong ever since. You weren’t on any billboards and you didn’t put up the kind of numbers that gained you any fame, but you had a strong enough following in the late night crowd. 

_Don’t you just love that song? That’s one for the ages right there. If you’re just tuning in, you missed out on a classic, the Beach Boys with ‘God Only Knows’. We’re reaching just about the middle of our show tonight and we have a few dedications left to get to, but we still have time to chat. The Easter holiday is coming up soon and if you celebrate, I hope you’ll enjoy. Seeing our family and friends can leave us a little melancholy after it’s all over, so I’ll be here again, to hear your stories and take your requests. Speaking of requests, here’s one from yours truly, going out to… well, you know who you are._

You sighed, the on-air light going off as you collapsed back into your chair and Selena’s ‘Missing My Baby’ played over the airwaves. You were trying not to be maudlin about it, not to sink too deep into a funk over some imagined love affair. You had to keep reminding yourself that it was nothing but a simple flirtation -- that ‘Steve’ didn’t owe you anything, least of all an explanation as to why he had fallen off the radar so suddenly and completely. 

Still, it hurt. To think he hadn’t been taking it as seriously as you had. To think that it might have all been some grand joke, some bored jerk playing around with your feelings. And you’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. But even in your worst moments, you sometimes found it hard to believe. There had been someone so genuine about Steve, even in the first time he called in, just to talk a little and alleviate his own broken heart.

You readjusted your headset and signed reaching to tap a call button that had started blinking on your console.

“You’re on with Roxy,” you answered mildly. There was no response, only dead air, and you frowned. “Hello?” you asked, reaching to close out the call.

“I wanted to open with an apology, but ‘I’m sorry’ just doesn’t seem like enough,” an all-too-familiar voice responded.

You drew in a sharp breath and your eyes grew comically wide, so much so that Karen gave you a raised-eyebrow look of concern, and mimed cutting off the call for you. You shook your head, and took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Well hey there stranger,” you said, hoping to sound at least a little bit normal. Even as the words left your mouth, you knew you had failed; there was a damper to your voice, the usual enthusiasm and soft flirtatious tone you used on the air and with Steve on the phone missing.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve blurted over the line, sounding almost desperate to apologize. “I had to go out of town for a couple days, it was just supposed to be a short trip but… but things… happened. And I was… stuck.”

You cleared your throat, sat up a little straight. “Hey, it happens,” you replied weakly.

“Not to me. Not like this,” Steve insisted, and you sighed.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you told him, glancing at the console board to make sure you still had time before you needed to go back on the air. “It’s not… I mean… we didn’t make any promises, or anything. You didn’t have any… any… uh, obligation, to me.”

You heard him sigh on the line. “I did. Even if you don’t think so, I did. I wanted to call you, Roxy, I swear I wanted to, I just… couldn’t.”

Why not? You wondered. Was the wife there? The girlfriend? Is this a joke, Steve? Some stupid little laugh to you? Because it’s not to me, and I need to know. I need to know.

Of course, you didn’t say any of that.

“No worries, baby,” you replied quickly. “But I’m about to go back on air, so I have to let you go. We’ll catch up later, maybe.”

You cut off the call and sighed, covering your face in your hands.

_Well, kids, our time is winding down. I hope you enjoyed listening tonight, because I sure enjoyed playing your songs and hearing your stories. We have a little while longer so let’s see if we can’t find another request before it’s lights out for me, shall we? Hello caller, you’re on the air._

“Hello Roxy, it’s been a long time,” an all-too-familiar voice came over the line. “I’ve missed talking to you.”

Steve had called much earlier in your show that night; you hadn’t expected him to call in again.

“Hey there baby,” you responded after a moment of startled dead air. “What can I play for you?”

“You see Roxy, I’d been talkin’ to this girl I kinda like, and I think maybe I blew it. It’s killin’ me to think I spoiled my shot with her. I heard this song a while back and I’d really love her to hear it tonight, would you play it for me?” Steve said.

You closed your eyes and nodded a moment, forgetting that he couldn’t see, before you swallowed hard and said, “Sure thing, baby. What do you want to hear?”

“It’s an older one,” Steve told you. “By Guns n’ Roses. It’s called ‘Patience’.”

You quickly queued up the song.

_We’ll end tonight on this request for our last caller, you heard him, it’s good ol’ GNR with ‘Patience’ off their ‘88 album, Lies. I hope all those broken hearts are feeling a little better tonight. Until next week, I’m Roxy Carmichael, and you’ve been listening to the Late Night Broken Hearts Club here on WKQX._

Normally you would have been out like a shot, quickly cleaning up your console and putting on the autoplay to run for a few hours until the next jock came in, but you lingered tonight, listening quietly to the song that Steve had requested before you took your leave.

_Shed a tear 'cause I'm missin' you  
I'm still alright to smile  
Girl, I think about you every day now  
Was a time when I wasn't sure  
But you set my mind at ease  
There is no doubt you're in my heart now_

You had barely made it out of the building before you pulled out your cell phone, thumbing a number saved in your directory that you had longed to see popping up on the display for weeks.

“Hello? Roxy?” Steve answered uncertainly.

You couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, baby,” you said softly. “So you were missin’ me, were you?”


	5. Chapter 5

_Do you feel that in the air? The breeze is getting warmer and the gardens in Central Park are in bloom… it’s Spring in New York, and all of our fancies lightly turn towards love. It’s not easy for some of us, still hurting, thinking about our past loves, but we’ll be okay. Roxy’s here to listen; call me with your requests, your dedications, and your stories and we’ll all find a way to feel a little better tonight. Welcome, listeners, to the Late Night Broken Hearts Club._

_Let’s kick things off with a song about that steamy hot summer coming our way. It’s never easy being the one left behind while friends and lovers hit the road for their summer vacation, and this song is the perfect tribute. Originally recorded by Bananarama, this is the cover by those 90’s favorites, Ace of Base, with Cruel Summer._

The call indicator on your mixing board started blinking even before you started the song, and you couldn’t help but smile.

He didn’t really need to call in anymore; you spoke almost every day. If you weren’t able to to speak, you at least texted, most of the time. His work took him away sometimes -- those were the times when you would resort to texting, for as long as you could, unless he fell off the grid for a day or two.

Or a week or two.

It was difficult, but you understood. Your own phone would crap out if you drove even a few miles outside of the city, so it made sense that if he had to travel outside of the country, you’d lose track of him. Steve hadn’t told you exactly what he did, but you didn’t press the issue; so much was still unknown.

For now, anyway.

“I can’t believe it’s almost summer already,” Steve said by way of greeting.

You couldn’t help the smile that lit up your face, and you saw Karen shaking her head and smiling softly from where she sat on the other side of the glass. In spite of all your former producer Dave’s unkind words on the subject before his departure, Karen had come around on your not so ‘mystery’ caller in recent weeks. Perhaps she had sensed something in your demeanor or overheard one of your calls, but she seemed to understand that beneath all of the flirtations and teasing conversations, there was something… real.

At least you hoped it was real.

“Well hey there handsome,” you greeted in return, smiling as you leaned back in your chair and swiveled from side to side.

Steve laughed on the other end of the line. “Not like you’d know,” he teased.

“Of course you’re handsome, Steve,” you replied with a laugh. “You’re my prince charming, aren’t you?” The line was quiet for a moment, and you frowned. “Steve?” you asked.

“What if… what if I wasn’t?” he said, voice gone almost shy. Your frown grew deeper and you punched a few buttons on your console, setting another song to play directly after the first.

“Steve?” you asked. “Everything okay?”

“What if I wasn’t… y’know, good looking?” he asked, tone still low and subdued. “I could… I could be something like five-foot-nothing, a 90 pound weakling. You don’t know, it’s not like we’ve seen each other.”

“Oh, Steve,” you replied in a soft voice. “Don’t you get it, baby? I… I don’t care what you look like, you know? I just… whatever this is? Whatever we are? I love it. Just talking to you, it’s perfect, and I know that when… if… we were to meet, I’d lo… like you as much as I do now.”

He was silent for a long moment and then let loose a deep sigh. “I’m really glad to hear that,” he told you. “I’m not… I don’t really look like that, I just… I’ve never known anyone like this before, not without meeting, but I know what I’m feeling and I was afraid that…”

“What if I’m, like, Quasimodo?” you teased. “Oh! What if I’m like, Cruella Deville? Flaring nostrils and all? Or if I have like, long gross fingernails, all yellow and swirly?”

Steve laughed long and deep on the other end of the line. “Roxy, you’re crazy, you know that?”

“Maybe I am,” you told him. “But I think you like it.”

“I do, doll. I really, really do,” Steve told you, then paused. “Roxy, I want to meet you. In person.”

You drew in a sharp breath in surprise. You should have been expecting it; you knew it would have to come up sooner or later. And while your self-esteem was healthy enough -- you knew you could be pretty easy on the eyes if you put your mind to it -- the thought of meeting Steve in person was absolutely terrifying.

“Steve… Steve, I don’t…” you started. The fear must have shown on your face; from her booth, Karen mimed cutting off the call, but you shook your head.

“Please, Roxy,” Steve said, voice pleading. “Talking to you is the best part of my day. God, I can’t help but smile even when I hear your voicemail. I… I know why you might be afraid, I’m a little nervous myself but… don’t you think it’s worth the risk?”

“I’m just… I’m not ready, Steve, not yet,” you told him, shaking your head, even though he couldn’t see. “I have to go back on the air in a sec, baby. We can put a pin in this for right now, can’t we?”

“Of course, whatever you want, doll,” Steve replied. You hope that wasn’t defeat that you heard in his voice. “I’ll call you again before you’re done for the night, if that’s okay?”

“Always glad to hear your voice, Steve,” you told him. “Bye, baby. I’ll talk to you later.” 

If you’re just tuning in, that was Katy Perry’s ‘ET’, going out from Liz to Max. Don’t you just love how music speaks to all of us differently? I’d never have thought of that track as a love song but it clearly means a lot to those two… I hope they work things out, just like I hope all of you find your special someone out there, the one who makes all of the heartbreak go away. 

_For closing tonight I think we’ll go for another throwback, the kind of tune you would both love and hate to be all about you. The kind of song that makes your heart ache in just the very best way. This is our last song tonight on the Late Night Broken Hearts Clubs, and as always, I’m Roxy Carmichael and this is Selena with ‘I Could Fall In Love’._


	6. Chapter 6

The days following Steve’s request to meet were tense. You exchanged sparsely worded text messages, really just basic pleasantries, until your resolve broke and you had to call him, late on a Thursday night after you’d found yourself unable to sleep. Leaving everything so unsettled was eating away at you; you needed him to understand.

“It’s not that I don’t want to meet you,” you blurted by way of greeting when he answered the phone. “Because I do, Steve, I really, really do. But I’m also slightly terrified here.”

“No, it’s okay, I understand,” Steve replied in a rush. “I get it, I didn’t mean to push so hard.”

You drew a deep breath. “I mean, it’s not exactly blind coincidence, that I have the kind of show that I do, you know,” you told him quietly. You hadn’t discussed your past much, or the impetus of the particular brand of radio show you hosted. 

Steve gave a soft sigh over the line. “I know, sweetheart,” he told you, voice echoing your own pain from the past. “I’ve heard your story on the air now and again. I’m sorry somebody hurt you like that… and I swear I’m not that kind of guy. I know it doesn’t mean much to say it, but it’s true.”

You leaned back against your pillows, unable to stop the small smile from forming. “I believe that, Steve. I really do,” you told him. “I just need a little time.”

You could hear the answering smile in his voice. “I’ll try to stop bein’ so pushy then,” he told you, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘pushy’, necessarily,” you told him.

“Just never thought I’d find myself so lonely for someone I’ve never even met,” Steve told you, the humor in his voice replaced now by open honesty. You couldn’t help but blush.

“Oh, my poor baby,” you told him, dropping your voice low. “Are you lonely for me? All alone tonight, Steve? No company to speak of?”

“Just you, Roxy,” Steve told you, sounding a little breathy over the line. “Always you.”

You giggled and then looked at the clock, your good spirits drifting into a frown. “I’d love to stay and play, baby, but it’s pretty late,” you told him, the regret clear in your voice.   
“I’ve gotta be up for my day job in a few hours.”

“I understand,” Steve told you. “I should probably hit the sack myself. Goodnight, Roxy.”

“Goodnight, Steve.” You ended the call and thought a long moment, alone and tucked away in your bed, eyeing the camera icon on your cell phone. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

You pushed your blanket down to expose your legs and, face burning hot with the excitement and nervousness of what you were doing, pulled the hem of your nightshirt up just a   
little to expose your thighs and the very edge of your panties, and snapped a quick photo. Your hands were shaking a little when you sent it, along with a brief message saying, ‘In case you get lonely’.

You placed your phone on your nightstand, feeling shivery and excited and just a little bit smug that you’d had the nerves to do what you had just done, ready to face any repercussions in the morning, only to hear the sudden buzz of a message alert. Hands shaking, you picked up your phone and unlocked it to read the message.

**Steve <3: Jesus Roxy, you trying to kill me here?**

You grinned and tapped out a quick response.

**Only in the very best way ;) Goodnight, Steve. Sweet dreams.**

**Steve <3: You pretty much guaranteed they will be, doll! Goodnight, Roxy.**

After that, your conversations with Steve took a very different turn. You could still talk for hours about anything and nothing, sharing your secrets and sometimes just listening to the other breathe, but you had, without realizing you would, added an entirely new element. You spent that entire Friday teasing each other back and forth via text messages full of flirtations and double entendre; you had even slipped off to the restroom at work and taken a mirror selfie from the neck down.

You tried to pretend it was entirely coincidental that you were wearing a deeply low-cut blouse that day, but even Steve knew better than that.

“Got yourself all dolled up for me today, didn’t you Rox?” he teased over the phone during your commute home, the bustle of the summer streets a million miles away as you talked.

“May-be,” you agreed, drawing out the first syllable as you spoke. “Would you like that if I did, Steve? Would you like it if you were the only one to know what I was doing, getting myself all pretty, just for you?”

He groaned over the line as you walked up the stairs to your apartment. “Baby, it’s enough to drive me crazy, just thinking about it.”

“Hmm,” you said, pretending to think on it. “I guess it’s a matter of taste. Maybe you want me to get all dressed up for you, but I think I’d rather take a few things off.”

“Yeah. You really are just actively trying to kill me now,” Steve replied, and you laughed.

“Maybe another time,” you told him. You’d made it inside and into your bedroom by then, and a glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand made it clear you had to hurry. “One of the girls from work is dragging me out for margaritas to try and loosen me up a little, so she can grill me about you.

You could hear the way Steve perked up at your words. “You’ve told her about me?” he asked curiously.

“She kind of weaseled it out of me, honestly. She figured out something was up when I was all smiles the day after Valentine’s,” you explained.

“Valentine’s Day,” Steve said, sounding almost nostalgic. “That was our first date.”

You laughed softly, feeling all warm and shivery inside at his words. “Best Valentine’s Day I’ve had in a very long time,” you told him.

“Best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” he countered.

You wondered inwardly if this was what swooning felt like. “Okay, that’s it, mister,” you told him firmly. “No more dawdling. I’ve got to get changed now I will talk to you tomorrow, baby. Or maybe later tonight.”

Steve gave a pleased sigh across the line. “Bye Roxy,” he told you. “Have fun tonight. Just not, y’know, too much fun.”

 

Two hours later found you crowded against a small table at some novelty bar that Lilly had found online. It was tacky and a little bit kitsch, full of sea shells and coconuts bolted to the walls, but the blood orange margaritas were amazing and the crowd was surprisingly chill for a Friday.

You barely heard your phone’s message alert chime under the constant din, and Lilly scooped it up from the tabletop before you could grab it and thumbed the message open, her eyes going comically wide.

“Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus, is THIS the guy?!” she gasped. 

You snatched the phone out of her hand, quickly flipping it to see what had her reacting so strongly. Steve had sent a photo, the taut tan skin of what appeared to be his well-muscled chest, his free hand resting just above his navel, a line of crisp dark blonde hair stretching down beneath it. The caption simply read, _Since you'd rather be taking a few things off..._

The margaritas already had you flushed, but you swear you turned two shade redder just staring at your phone screen. You cleared your throat and finished the rest of your drink.  
“Yeah,” you said nodding, “That’s him.” Lilly had the basics of your arrangement by now; she knew you’d never met Steve in person, and didn’t even know his real name.

She shook her head -- tousled magenta pink tonight -- and took a long pull on her own drink before saying your name. “Girlie,” she added, “You are doing a disservice to male-attracted people everywhere by not riding that man like the goddamn stallion he is.”

You barked out a laugh so loud that you clapped a hand over your mouth, thinking of how you could open the next night’s show.

 

_It’s eleven o’clock on the dot on this balmy Saturday night in the city, and here a WKQX, that means it’s time for the Late Night Broken Heart’s Club. As always, I’m your host, Roxy Carmichael, and I hope you’re finding a way to enjoy this beautiful weather. I thought we might start tonight a little differently, with a song we don’t often hear requested here on the Broken Heart’s Club, but I think it’s just right to get some of you out there smiling tonight. I know I will be. A notorious R &B classic from 1996, this is Ginuwine, “Pony”._

Thirty seconds into the song, your call line lit up and you answered it to hear Steve practically collapsing in laughter over the phone.

“Oh my god,” he finally came out with, still chuckling. “This one’s… wow.”

You smiled to yourself in the booth, catching your producer’s smirk from across the glass partition. “I don’t know what to tell you, baby,” you told Steve with a laugh. “It’s just been stuck in my head for some reason.”


	7. Chapter 7

Steve was lounging on the sofa in the communal living space at Stark Tower, his ankles crossed and his feet up on a glass and steel coffee table, barely paying attention to his surroundings. He held his phone up in two hands, a smile on his face as he tapped out a quick message response. 

You’d been texting all morning, even though it was a workday and you weren’t supposed to have your phone out during business hours. You couldn’t help yourself; you talked to Steve almost every day now. He’d had to leave a few weeks prior, gone for eight days. It had been awful for the first couple of days; you were shocked at how much you could miss something as simple as a text message or a voice on the line.

On the third day, you received a call from an unknown number. The display was jumbled on your phone screen, a mishmash of numbers and symbols that made little sense, but on a hunch, you answered. You were so very glad you did.

“I was hopin’ you’d pick up,” Steve’s voice came over the line, sounding tinny and far away. 

“Oh, sorry, I thought you were my other digital boyfriend,” you told him flippantly, grinning to yourself at the way he laughed, long and deep.

His laughter drifted into a sigh. “God, it’s good to hear your voice,” he told you.

“It’s only been a few days, baby,” you reminded, even though you had been thinking much the same thing.

“Yeah, but it’s been a rough few days,” Steve countered. “And even the best days don’t feel right anymore if I don’t get to hear your voice, imagine that pretty smile, just for me. I missed you.”

You couldn’t help the small, pleased hum that escaped you. “I missed you too,” you admitted. Somewhere in the background of the call, you heard a vaguely familiar gruff voice call out.

“Enough with the phone, punk! Get some sleep, we’re moving at 0400 tomorrow and I am not dragging your ass out of here half asleep,” the voice said. The roughness of the tone and cadence of the voice was one you recognized: Steve’s roommate. You didn’t know his name, but the more you spoke on the phone with Steve, the more often you heard him in the background.

Steve sighed again. “I better go,” he relented. “I’ll talk to you again as soon as I can.”

“Stay safe, Steve,” you said, trying not to sound worried. You had decided by then that Steve must be involved in some sort of military or law enforcement endeavor; the time away, the way he spoke sometimes, it just made sense. 

“I’ll try,” he told you, and then he was gone. If you found it a little hard to sleep for the following nights, you didn’t mention it when he finally returned.

Whatever his job entailed, whatever he had been doing while he was away, it must have gone well; he called you the moment he was back in the city, adrenaline pumping and spirits high. It brought out a side of Steve that you didn’t see too often and, once he was alone, he told you in no uncertain terms just how much he had missed you, and what he would do to express that if you were there in person.

It had left you a little flustered; there’d been more than a few calls like that since, as well as text messages and photo swaps that were leaving less and less to the imagination. It wasn’t quite the way you had saw any of this going with Steve, but damned if you weren’t getting addicted.

 

In the mid-afternoon light of the common space, Steve grinned to see your latest response.

**Roxy: You are driving me crazy, baby. I’m at the dayjob, you can’t be getting me all hot and bothered when I still have to look my boss in the eye!**

 

**Can’t help myself when you send me pics of that pretty little lace number you got on today, Rox.**

You’d felt a bit daring that morning and snapped a few mirror shots while you were getting ready for work. You still didn’t include your face -- something about that just seemed too much, something in you needing to keep up the anonymity in spite of just about baring your soul to him over the phone by then -- but made sure Steve got an eyeful of the baby blue lace bra you had chosen for the day.

He loved it when you wore lace.

 

**Roxy: The bossman approacheth. I’ll call you after work tonight, ok? X**

Steve sent back a series of X’s and O’s and sighed, about to close his phone screen for a while when it was unceremoniously plucked out of his hands.

 

“Okay, that’s it, I’m putting a stop to this,” Tony announced, Steve’s phone gripped in his hand. “You can’t be in a committed relationship with your phone, Cap. It’s pathetic.”

“He’s not wrong,” Sam added, entering the room on Tony’s heels to collapse onto the couch beside Steve. 

“Tony? What the hell? Give me back my phone!” Steve spat out, irritated, but Tony had already crossed the room and was paging through the messages, eyebrows arched up to his hairline.

“Holy shit, you’re sexting?” he said incredulously. “I can’t believe my virgin eyes have been assaulted with this filth!

Sam laughed, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “My man!” he said cheerfully, even as Steve’s face grew more and more red, a combination of embarrassment and anger clouding his features.

“Holy shit, is this her?” Tony went on; he had found your latest photos.

That was more than Steve could take; he was on his feet, snatching his phone back out of Tony’s hands in less than a second, glaring icily at the other man.

“You had no business looking at that,” Steve said, voice taking on the authoritarian tone he only used when stressed in the field. “That was an invasion of my privacy, and of hers.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Tony told him, hands held in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry old timer, I just didn’t expect to find porn shots in there. Girl’s got a helluva figure, incidentally.”

“Tony…” Steve started, voice coming out in almost a growl.

“Relax, Capsicle, I won’t be spreading it around,” Tony told him dismissively. He walked towards the pair of leather chairs that flanked the couch and sat down, a rare moment of relaxation. “But, seriously. You need to get out. If your little sext partner doesn’t want to meet up, cut her loose.”

“Wouldn’t hurt for you to meet someone new,” Sam mused. 

Steve returned to his place on the couch and frowned. It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to meet you -- he did, rather desperately. But you were afraid and, he thought, you had every right to be cautious. It was getting harder though, as time passed.

He’d bumped into a woman in the building lobby just a day or two before, a real knockout who had offered him a friendly smile before hurrying off on whatever errand she was running. For a split second, he had toyed with the idea of introducing himself. He felt guilty immediately afterwards, knowing in his heart of hearts that it was you he really wanted, but he couldn’t help himself. Some days, he just longed for another hand to hold.

 

He apologized when you called that night, telling you that his friend had grabbed his phone and saw a few messages and a photo that had been meant for private eyes. You had laughed it off; after all, it wasn’t as though you could be identified from a few loose bra shots.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you replied. “A friend of mine drooled over that first pic you sent me before I had the chance to see it, so we can call it even.”

Steve gave a slow sigh. “What did I ever do to deserve a gal like you, Rox?” he asked.

“You called into a radio show,” you told him with a laugh.

_Another Saturday night on the books and my what a week it has been. If I told you what my Thursday was like, oh boy, you’d be calling me asking, ‘Roxy, what kind of mess did you get yourself into?’. A beautiful mess, I’d have to tell you, and I hope at least some of you out there know how I’m feeling. We’re going to close out our show tonight with a song for all of you out there, longing for someone who has to be far away. Well you know what they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder, even it doesn’t make it any easier. Goodnight from all of us here at WKQX and the Late Night Broken Heart’s Club. Here’s one last song to keep you company tonight, a boy band classic that never made it to a single but sure won over a lot of fans in its days, this is Nsync with “Digital Get Down”._


	8. Chapter 8

You let out a pronounced grunt as you flopped back on your mattress, throwing your recently removed shoe god-knows-where across the room. It had been a hell of a Monday. The fiscal year had ended almost a week ago and it seemed your department at your office job was still far behind the curve; the sheer volume of expenditures that had to be audited before processing was insane.

“Long day?” Steve asked.

You sighed, your phone still pressed to your ear. “Money sucks,” you told him flatly, and he laughed.

“Yeah I’ve noticed that,” he agreed amiably. “Still better to have it than not, though.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you sighed. “I would just prefer not to deal with everybody else’s all the time. I’m still mystified as to why I went to school for Accounting… math is not fun.”

Steve chuckled. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “Rough day at the office, I take it?”

“End of the year crap to deal with,” you told him, closing your eyes and repositioning yourself a little more comfortably on your bed. You still needed to change, throw in a load of laundry, do last night’s dishes, and find something to eat, but you couldn’t be bothered to even move. 

“I’m sorry, Roxy,” Steve practically purred. “I wish there was somethin’ I could do to make you feel better.”

“Oh baby, I could think of a few things, let me tell you,” you told him, and you both started to laugh. You were just teasing, of course; it was too early for that. Later, after you’d hung up and took care of your household chores, telling yourself you weren’t going to call again and then doing it anyway, that’s when you and Steve would play. That’s when he would tell you, in great detail, every little thing he would do to you, if you were there. 

And god, did you want to let him.

It was getting harder, keeping Steve at an arm’s length constantly. There were still so may blank spots in your relationship; you kept things to yourselves, didn’t explore further, with some unspoken understanding that it was a line you weren’t ready to cross. He didn’t know your real name, or where you worked; he didn’t know where you had grown up, or the color of your eyes. You didn’t know if he had family, or exactly what he did for a living. 

You knew it was a safety measure. If it went bad, you could console yourself by saying it was never real, that you never really knew him, that it had all been some grand little game. Your rational mind knew better -- that so much of you was tied up in this man that you’d never met, that it would break your heart in a way that you didn’t know you’d ever recover from if you lost him. But you both pretended: it was easier that way.

“You know what you could do,” you reasoned, pushing away those dark thoughts. “You could help me decide what I should be for Halloween.”

“Your friend still intent on dragging you out to that party?” Steve asked curiously. You had been complaining for a few days; Lilly had tickets to some costume party at a dance club and was insistent that you attend with her. 

“Sadly, yes,” you agreed, nodding even though he couldn’t see. “Lilly is a pain in the ass, but she’s a good friend. If nothing else, I can keep an eye on her. Too many creeps out on Halloween, you know?”

“It’s changed a lot since I was a kid,” Steve mused; you could hear the smile in his voice as he thought of himself and Bucky running wild, on the years he felt well enough to go out. Soaping windows and tossing rotted tomatoes at an angry neighbor’s house; they’d take to the streets dressed in ratty old clothes, knocking on doors, and occasionally getting a piece of ripe fruit or a homemade popcorn ball dropped in the paper sacks they carried.   
Of course, he didn’t tell you any of that. 

“Right?” you agreed, thinking of your own fun days of grade school Halloween parades, trick-or-treating around your neighborhood, and visiting the dozens of small haunted houses that sprung up at local schools and park districts. You had never asked Steve outright how old he was; you always just assumed you were close enough in age that things that seemed a universal experience to you would have been the same for him. “Now I get to be dragged out and packed into a too-small room with too many people, listen to awful dance music and try not to get my drink knocked out of my hand by a slutty nurse or a skanky cat in stilettos.”

Steve laughed. “Costumes don’t leave much to the imagination anymore, do they?” he asked. He’d seen the ads going up weeks ago; it seemed par for the course for Halloween retailers to take even the most innocuous costume idea, make it too short, too tight, and add fishnets. He would say he found it pretty distasteful, but then he was certain his age would be showing.

“Honestly,” you agreed with a groan. “Either I try and find something cute and not hooker-ish, and look like a prude, or dress up as the porn-star version of Raggedy Ann. I cannot win.”

“Aww, my poor baby,” Steve teased. “I bet you’d be a real cute porn-star Raggedy Ann, though. Mop of red yarn hair and all. So sexy.”

You burst into a fit of giggles at his words, the weight of the day slipping from your shoulders as he joined you in your laughter. That was part of the magic of this whole thing with Steve: something as simple was a hoke, a few well-placed words, the smile in his voice… it could just make your troubles melt away. There you were, exhausted, overworked, looking at another two days of mandatory overtime at the least, and you couldn’t help but relish the happiness bubbling up inside of you.

You were still smiling as your laughter tapered off. “This is just the start of it, you know,” you told him.

“How’s that, doll?” Steve asked curiously.

“Holiday Hell, baby,” you replied. “Starts with Halloween and then steamrolls right into Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Valentine’s Day. Full of obligations and expectations. Who needs any of that?”

“I kind of like Valentine’s Day,” Steve reminded. “Pretty much our anniversary, isn’t it? First time I got to hear your sweet voice, all for me.”

You sighed happily. “I think you’re right,” you agreed. He’d called in to your show months before that, so it wasn’t the first time you’d spoken, and you’d talked on the studio line many times in the months between, but the Valentine’s Day show was the first time you’d called him directly on his personal line.

Just the thought of the first time you heard his voice, much clearer and deeper over the private call, was enough to make you shiver.

“Roxy…” Steve began slowly, the unease clear in his voice. You already knew what he was going to say and you frowned, feeling your nerves kick up, making your stomach flip.

“I’m not ready, Steve,” you told him softly. “I want to, I swear to god I want to meet you, but everytime I think about it I get so damned afraid.”

“You don’t have to be afraid, Rox. I… you know how I feel about you,” Steve said. He sounded so sad, almost pained. “Nothing’s gonna change that.”

“That’s what you say now,” you countered. 

“That’s the truth,” Steve replied. He sighed. “How about we make a compromise? We say, okay, if we haven’t made the leap but a certain day, then that’s it. That’s the day we meet up, no excuses, nothing holding us back.”

This was the tipping point. You felt it down in your bones. It was so hard to make the decision. You cared for Steve -- more than you were ready to admit, even to yourself. It wasn’t just the flirting or the companionship of his voice on the line; it wasn’t even the nights you spent tucked into your bed, phone at your ear while Steve whispered the most erotic things you’ve ever heard, everything he longed to do to you.

It was more than that. It had always been more than that.

“Valentine’s Day,” you blurted. It sounded too cliche even to your own ears after you said it, but Steve didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Valentine’s Day,” he agreed. You just knew he was smiling. 

 

_It’s that holiday season again, isn’t it folks? Creeping up on us so quick every year. Halloween is just around the corner and then we dive headfirst into the rest of them. Maybe this year, though, we’ll all find something to look forward to. I know I will. If you’re just tuning in to WKQX tonight, I’d like to welcome all of our listeners, new and old, to the Late Night Broken Heart’s Club. Give me a call, tell Roxy all your woes, and I’ll see if I can’t make it better with a song or two. Looks like we have a caller here on the line, you’re on with Roxy…_

“Hi Roxy,” Steve’s voice came over the on-air line, surprising you.

“Well hey there, baby,” you said, pleased to hear his voice. “Been waitin’ to hear from you tonight. Do you have song in mind that you’d like me to play?”

“Actually, Rox, I thought maybe this time, I could play one for you,” Steve countered, and you raised an eyebrow in response but didn’t reply; you weren’t quite sure what to say. “I called a little earlier tonight and spoke with your producer, and she agreed to help me out.”

“Is that so?” you asked, surprised.

Karen’s on-air light came on and she grinned at you through the glass provider. “Yes it is, Roxy,” she called cheerily.

“Folks, please welcome my amazing producer Karen to the air,” you said, glancing at her curiously. “Seems like she and our caller have been planning something for me.”

“We have,” Steve agreed with a small laugh. “Roxy, you’ve taught me so much about music that I wanted to share a song with you that I heard on my own. It made me think of you right away, and with all you’ve done for me, I wanted to be the one to play it for you.”

You glanced uncertainly to Karen; he was still smiling. “Sure thing, baby,” you agreed slowly. “Anything for you.”

“So this is a special request tonight,” Karen spoke up, fiddling with something on her end of the mixing board. “A song going out to our own Roxy Carmichael.”

“I hope you like it, Roxy,” Steve said quietly, and Karen set the song to play.

_Maybe it's intuition  
But some things you just don't question  
Like in your eyes, I see my future in an instant  
And there it goes,  
I think I found my best friend_

You were glad in that moment that you were off the air and you mic was turned off. That way no one could see you press your hands to your mouth, smiling even as tears streamed down your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Savage Garden, ya'll.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jjnmICxvoVY)
> 
> I make no apologies for how sweet and fluffy this is. It's may aim to write cotton candy.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve’s song dedications kept coming. Each week, towards the end of your show, you’d get a call and Karen would cue up the chosen song. It caused the tiniest bit of a stir, leading to a short write up in the Post, about the lovelorn radio DJ being wooed by a listener, but hidden deep enough that it didn’t garner too much attention. That was fine with you; you preferred the anonymity of your show, hiding behind your radio persona and keeping your personal life all your own.

You were getting emails from some of your regular listeners, charmed by the romance they saw playing out over the air. Some were more skeptical, congratulating you on a well planned publicity stunt, but those you ignored. You knew the truth.

This was real. What you felt for Steve was real, and you were certain he felt the same. You were nervous but optimistic, watching the calendar count down, and knowing that even if you couldn’t shake your anxiety and make that leap, you’d made a promise: you had a deadline.

 

_That was a classic from the 80’s, Alias with ‘More Than Words’, and thank you so much baby for dedicating that song to me. You know I love hearing from you every week -- and I know our listeners do too. We’re like a little family here at the Late Night Broken Hearts Club, comforting each other when we’re sad and celebrating our little joys together. I know the rest of you out there feel the same. So give me a call, why don’t you? Let me know what you want to hear. We have all night. While we wait for our next request, let me send a song back out to you, baby. This is an R &B ballad from way back in 1993, SWV with ‘Weak’._

“You’re just going to make me cry on the air one of these nights, baby,” you told Steve with a sigh. The weather had fallen into a cold snap, leaving you shivering as you walked home from the subway station. It was late but it was a well worn path that you had taken countless times before; you weren’t worried.

“That is definitely not what I’m aiming for,” Steve told you, chuckling softly. He sounded sleepy; he’d been away for something work-related for three days, coming back just that evening, but he had stayed up for your show anyway.

You smiled. “Steve, you sound exhausted. Why don’t you get some sleep? We can talk tomorrow.”

“Not until I know you’re home safe,” he countered, stifling a yawn. “I hate you takin’ the train so late, by yourself.”

“Aww, my baby worries about me,” you teased, walking up the stairs to your building. “I’m home now, though, see?” You jingled your keys as you opened the door to the building’s front hall.

“Nope,” he told you, stubbornness outweighing his fatigue. “Not until you’re all tucked in and ready for bed, doll. Then I can rest easy.”

Opening your apartment door, you gave a pleased sigh. “God, I love you Steve,” you said, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your face, feeling warm and safe, as though you were wrapped up in his arms rather than sharing a phone call. You hadn’t even realized you said it until you heard his deep inhale on the other end of the line.

“Steve?” you asked, suddenly afraid.

“I… I love you, Roxy,” he breathed out. “Whoever you are. Whatever your name is. I love you.”

 

That following Monday saw you in so chipper a mood that your office coworkers were giving you odd looks and commenting among themselves over what was actually in your coffee mug. You didn’t even notice; you were walking on air. Lilly kept sidling up to your cubicle, trying to pump you for more information, but you weren’t giving up the ghost.

“Did you finally meet?” she asked curiously, leaning against your cubicle wall and holding a large coffee mug that read _Don’t Make Me Kill You_.

“Lilly…” you warned, glancing around the office. You didn’t need the entire staff to know about the unusual turn your love life had taken over the past few months.

“Seriously, babe, because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you got laid,” Lilly went on, giving you a lascivious wink and poking the stud of her tongue piercing out of the corner of her mouth.

You laughed. “No, I did not,” you said. “Believe me, if I did, you’d know. You know you’re my best friend, you’re the only one who even knows about… about him.” Lilly grinned widely, her bright purple hair a stark contrast against the pale beige walls of your cubicle.

“Of course I’m your best friend,” she agreed, raising her coffee mug to her lips. “I’m freaking awesome.”

 

Steve was having a decidedly less pleasant day. Bucky was the only one who knew the true nature of his relationship with you -- how you had ‘met’, the anonymous manner you had decided upon as you got to know each other better. He had a suspicion that Tony assumed he had connected with you on some hookup app or something similar. Steve had no inclination to tell anyone else the truth.

Which was how he found himself bet shuttled along the corridor by Tony, flanked by Bucky on the opposite side, listening to the Tower’s namesake rattle on and on.

“I know things have changed a lot since your day, Capsicle, but these days, men and women actually meet in person at some point,” he declared.

Steve groaned. “Tony, it’s not really any of your business,” he protested.

“Why’re you so invested in what Steve’s up to with this girl, anyway?” Bucked added, wearing a mischievous smirk. He may not have any issues with Steve’s involvement with a woman he had yet to meet, personally -- Bucky Barnes was a romantic at heart, no matter what his reputation might have said otherwise -- but he was also known to be a little shit to his nearest and dearest from time to time, and he knew egging Tony on would only make him lean harder on Steve.

“Because it’s a matter of principle!” Tony declared. “We have a reputation here, Steve. We’re Avengers. And you can’t bring your damn phone as a date to the next state function or charity gala -- which will be in three weeks, by the way, fundraiser for getting more girls into STEM fields, and as a pair of living breathing science projects, you’re both attending.”

Steve groaned again. “You don’t have to…” he started.

“No, no, I do have to,” Tony told him, and pushed open the double doors leading into one of the working floors at the Tower. “Now look around you. Stark Industries. Literally hundreds of women -- and men, if that’s your poison -- who come to work here every damn day. Smart, honest people, who’ve all had extensive background checks. Go nuts. Find a girl. Hell, find two.”

Bucky snickered. “Maybe one of each?” he added.

Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “See? Frosty gets it. I like your style, Barnes. Try and get your old buddy on the same page”

Steve smiled politely at a woman who maneuvered around them with a file cart, then turned to Tony with a frown. He pinched the bridge of his nose, searching for just the right words to tell the other man off and get him off the subject for good, when his eyes suddenly widened and his jaw dropped.

It was your laugh that caught his attention. That sweet, lovely little laugh he had heard near hundreds of times by then, first over the airwaves and then over the phone as you teased and joked with one another. 

“Something wrong?” Bucky asked, mirth gone from his voice as he saw Steve’s expression change. Steve shook his head and turned back to look out over the office, moving swiftly to follow the sound.

 

He found you leaning back in your chair, swiveling gently side to side while a woman with bright purple hair leaned against the cubicle wall, coffee in hand and a laughing smile on her face. Steve recognized her, having been introduced once or twice in the past; Lillian, he thought her name was. It was hard to forget a girl who changed her hair color like most people changed their mind.

You, though… you were something else entirely. 

Steve’s heart was fluttering somewhere in his throat as his eyes drifted over you, devouring every detail like a man famished. The color of your hair; the color of your eyes; the way you smiled, lips pulling back into a joyful grin as you threw your head back and laughed.

The slope of your breast beneath the soft cream-colored blouse you wore -- one that he recognized, he realized, from one of the many anonymous selfies you had shared. The curve of your hip. The shapely bend of your legs.

“There is no liquor on this earth you can ply me with that will get me to call him on speaker, Lilly,” you told the other woman, still chuckling. You hadn’t even noticed Steve standing there in front of you, until Lilly nudged you and gestured.

“Oh!” you said quickly, turning in your chair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was… is there something I can help you with, Captain Rogers?”

He stared a long moment, disbelieving, until he finally spoke. “Roxy?”


	10. Chapter 10

You took several great gulps of air, eyes wide and gaping. You imagined you must look something like a goldfish flopped outside of its bowl, but you couldn’t help yourself. You knew it was him -- that single word, the softness of his voice, it was him, you knew it in your soul. You could never have imagined, in all this time, that the man you had so swiftly fallen for had been right there all the time.

Steve dropped to one knee, and reached out to gently cup your face. You were eye level now, his deep blue gaze boring into you, searching for some sign of recognition.

“Is it you?” he asked, voice dropped low. “Please, Roxy, tell me it’s you.” You smiled shakily, one trembling hand reaching to cover his where his gently fingers softly caressed your cheek.

“Well hi there, baby,” you told him quietly, tears pooling in your eyes. “Didn’t expect to see you here today. We’re a little bit early, aren’t we?”

Steve huffed a laugh, dropping his head into your like for a long moment before looking up again, a blinding smile on his face.

“It’s you,” you said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Roxy, I can’t believe it’s really you!”

Lilly arched an eyebrow. “Roxy?” she asked quizzically. “Babe, why is he calling you OH MY GOD YOU’RE ROXY CARMICHAEL!”

“Lilly, shut up!” you hissed at her, attention momentarily drawn from the man knelt before you. “No one else knows, be quiet!”

Lilly clamped one hand over her mouth while the other still held her coffee cup, nodding with wide eyes to indicate that she was going to button-up about your secret.

You turned back to Steve to find him laughing gently, eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips, your face to your hands, everywhere they could go, drinking in all that he could see of you. It was such a little part of you to be revealed, really; he had seen nearly all of you in months past, save your face, but it held so much. Thought, emotion; they played over your features, betraying everything you tried to hide.

“Your name,” Steve murmured. “Please, Roxy. Tell me. Tell me your real name.”

You whispered it softly and he repeated it back with a grin. “It’s beautiful,” Steve told you. “Suits you. Perfect. But I know, I’ll still slip up and call you ‘Roxy’ sometimes.”

“You broke the rules,” you told him. “You weren’t supposed to tell me your real name.”

“I didn’t think we’d ever meet for you to call me on it,” Steve said with a chuckle, his eyes still roaming over you, committing every detail to memory, his hand still cupping your face.

 

“What the hell is going on here?” a new voice cut in, and you were forced to pull your gaze away from Steve as you spied Tony Stark, owner of the company you worked for and technically your boss, approaching, with another man -- Bucky Barnes, you noted, spotting the metal arm he wore -- just behind him.

Lilly clasped both hands around her cup of coffee and clutched it over her heart. “Wuv! Twoo wuv!” she announced, just loud enough for those gathered to hear.

Tony eyed her skeptically. “Ah. Lillian. Should have known you’d be involved. Love the hair, dear. Tell me, when you decide to go a shade not found in nature, is it just your head that gets the treatment, or are we looking at an all-over rainbow?”

Lilly smiled. “Why Mr. Stark, are we going to be having another meeting with Phyllis in human resources?”

Tony chuckled. “No thanks. I heard she’s finally stopped twitching when anyone says my name. Wouldn’t want to put the poor woman through that again.”

“Uh, not to interrupt whatever little reunion you got goin’ on here, Stark, but why is Steve lookin’ like he’s about to pop the question here?” Bucky interrupted, frowning at the scene before him. True enough, Steve was still knelt before you, seemingly oblivious to the chatter around him.

“It’s her, Buck,” he all but whispered. “It’s my girl. The one you guys like to give me hell about. I told you I’d meet her. I told you she was perfect. And here she is.”

You blushed scarlet. “I don’t know that I’d say perfect,” you mumbled.

“You are,” Steve insisted, suddenly on his feet and pulling you to yours. You found yourself enveloped in the warmest, most wonderful embrace you’d ever felt, Steve’s arms wrapped around you and holding you close.

“Huh,” Bucky said. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“Probably, yes,” Tony told him with a snort; Bucky scowled.

“I’m going to ignore that for the moment, but we’re gonna chat about it later,” Steve called, not letting you go and not even turning his head to face them.

“You know what, this makes total sense!” Lilly announced, snapping her fingers. “I mean, my god, who else on earth is going to have abs like that but the world’s only supersoldier?”

“Actually, we have two of those now,” Tony told her, jerking a thumb towards Bucky. 

“Oh, that’s right!” Lilly exclaimed. She turned towards Bucky and bit her lip, making an extravagant show of looking him up and down. “Well hello there, soldier,” she finally spoke up, a wolfish grin on her features. For his part, Bucky did his best not to look worried.

“Right, so it someone going to explain what the hell is actually happening here or do I have to start guessing?” Tony pressed on, clearly irritated that he was apparently out of the loop. Heads were popping up in cubicles all around you, curious as to what was causing the great stir and, once seen, even more curious as to why Captain America was holding their mostly anonymous coworker an impenetrable bear hug.

“Big, blond, and beautiful here has been in a cyber-relationship with my girl for like months now,” Lilly explained cheerfully. “Who also apparently has a double life as a radio dj? And never bothered to tell me? ‘Best friend’ my pert little ass.”

“It is pert, isn’t it?” Tony agreed, making a show to twist his head and take a peek; Bucky was far more subtle about it.

“Focus, Mr. Stark. Think of Phyllis,” Lilly intoned.

Realizing the group was attracting an audience, Steve sighed and forced himself to let you go. “Maybe we should go someplace else to talk?” he suggested.

“I would,” you agreed. “I really would, but I’m kind of on the clock here.”

Your direct supervisor chose that moment to approach, arriving in a cloud of overpriced perfume. Cheryl Handleman was in her early 40’s and liked to dress like it was the mid 80’s, too-high Aqua Net hair and shoulder pads included. Thin and reedy with a high nasal voice, her almost screech of “What the hell is going on here?” made almost everyone shiver.

“Cheryl!” Tony greeted cheerfully, then pointed a finger at you. “This woman is on a week’s vacation, starting now. Paid. So find a way to cover for her, would you?”

Lilly frowned. “Aww!” she complained.

Tony gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Fine, fine, that one too,” he relented.

“Quick, grab your things,” Steve said, watching as Tony tried to calm a suddenly frazzled accounting supervisor. “Let’s get out of here before he can follow.”

You grinned, grabbing your purse from your drawer and your coat from the back of your chair. Steven took your hand in his and suddenly the two of you were running for the elevators, lighthearted and laughing.

 

Lilly snagged her own bag and coat and returned to your recently abandoned cubicle, quickly bypassing Tony as he calmed your boss down, to slip her arm into Bucky’s.

“So, Bucky,” she began. “It is ‘Bucky’, isn’t it? I suddenly have a lot of free time. What do you say to showing a girl a good time?”

Bucky chuckled, the two of you falling into step together. “Sounds like a blast, doll, but I gotta ask -- and this is going to show my age but I gotta know -- what would possess you to put a needle through your damn tongue?”

Lilly laughed as they disappeared into the corridor. “Well, Buck, I just like the way it looks. Plus I have a tongue stud that vibrates, so there’s that.”

“No shit? What is that even for…?”

“Use your imagination, Bucky.”

“... oh. _Oh_.”

“Damn straight.”


	11. Chapter 11

Steve spirited you away to the elevators, up to the private floors of the Tower where you worked five days a week, and into what you soon realized was his private apartment. You recognized some of what you saw: the fabric pattern on the sofa, the solid wood coffee table. The room was cool -- owing to, you assumed, the way Steve always seemed to run a little warmer than most, something he had mentioned once or twice -- and smelled pleasantly of coffee and what you thought might be Steve’s cologne or aftershave. He had gestured for you to sit in an armchair and took a seat across from you on the sofa, and the two of you lapsed into a sudden and uncomfortable silence.

Logically, you knew you were being ridiculous. This was _Steve_ \-- a man who knew you better than anyone else, a man you had shared all of your insecurities with, all of your hopes, all of your most secret fantasies. You blushed brightly realizing that, remembering everything you had said, every photo you had sent him, every night when he’d whisper everything he wanted to do to you in your ear and you’d gasp and moan in response.

It was him, but it wasn’t him; the anonymity was gone, and confronted with a flesh-and-blood man was overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked quietly, sensing your discomfort.

You gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry,” you told him. “I just… I’m having trouble, sort of… reconciling… a voice on the phone, with a live person sitting in front of me.”

Steve nodded. “I think I understand,” he agreed, and stood. “Why don’t you take a little while, try and relax?” he suggested. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“No, you don’t have to…!” you started.

Steve shook his head and smiled. “It’s alright,” he told you. “You just need some time, I get it.” He stepped away swiftly and disappeared into a back corridor; you heard a door close and you sighed, sitting forward with your face in your hands.

Had you just ruined everything?

You were edging into an unholy mixture of blind panic and heartbreak, deciding that it would be best if you just left, when your phone began to ring in your bag. You frowned, glanced down and wondered who on earth would be calling you midday, when the only real friends you had in the city would know you were working (or, as it happened, on a suddenly free week of vacation). Even more startling was the name on the display when you retrieved your phone: _Steve <3 _.

“Hello…?” you asked, voice uncertain, as you answered the call.

“I thought this might be easier, for now,” Steve’s voice came over the line. “Maybe give you a little chance to remember that it’s just me.”

A smile broke out on your face and you relaxed back into the armchair, all of your nervousness drifting quickly away, only to be replaced by the warm and tranquil feeling that often seemed to come part and parcel with his voice.

“You have the best ideas, baby,” you told him with.

Steve chuckled. “Tell me about your day?” he asked.

“Well, let me tell you Steve, it was a doozy…”

 

You talked for almost an hour. It was perfect, like any other day, the phone call you looked most forward to as you hurried out of the office to head home. Just to speak to him. Just to hear his voice. Knowing that he had been there all along seemed to fill you with months’ worth of frustration; you’d even passed him in the building once or twice, but you’d never really heard him speak.

It was starting to feel a little more real. You could hear him move around in the back of the apartment from time to time, and when he laughed over the line, you’d hear it echo back from behind his closed door. It seemed to relax away the rest of your nerves.

It _was_ him. He wasn’t just Captain America, the guy you spotted in a newspaper once in a while or in a flash on a muted news program. He was just Steve -- _your_ Steve.

Steeling yourself, you kicked off your uncomfortable work shoes -- damn heels -- and continued to talk, following the sound of his movement in the apartment until you stood outside his closed door. He was laughing again, telling you about a prank he had pulled on his roommate some days before -- Bucky, you realized, had been the roommate all along -- when you pushed open the door.

He was stretched out on his bed, back against the wooden headboard, when you walked in. It was familiar in here too, the navy plaid bedspread, the dark grey carpet, even the view from the window of the New York skyline. You’d shared so many photos back and forth, keeping only your faces a secret, and even now that was something you could share.

He smiled to see you enter. “Whatcha up to, sweetheart?” he asked, still holding the phone to his ear as he spoke.

You smiled in return. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, baby,” you told him softly, then dropped your phone from your ear and thumbed the screen to end the call. “I think I’m ready now,” you finished.

 

You didn’t hesitate. You knew if you paused in what you wanted to do, you’d start second guessing yourself and be right back where you started. You set your phone down on his dresser and made your way to where he sat; he moved to get up but you shook your head and he grinned when you climbed up onto the bed, maneuvering yourself to sit gently upon his lap. Steve’s large hands came up immediately to rest at your hips; his smile was practically blinding.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said quietly, eyes studying your face as he spoke. He started to let his hands drift up and down your sides. “I even bumped into you once, in the lobby here. Almost got up the nerve to talk to you.”

“And why didn’t you?” you asked curiously. You remembered that day; part of you had wanted to stop and apologize, but you’d only smiled apologetically and hurried on your way. You wanted to get home; you had a phone call to make.

Steve shook his head. “You weren’t _you_ ,” he explained. “I knew then that no woman, no matter how beautiful she was -- and god, doll, did you look beautiful -- would ever be right for me, if it wasn’t you.”

You blushed, ducking your head and biting your lip. It was one thing when he said things like that in a text message or over a phone line, something else entirely when he said them in person.

“Laying it on a little thick there, Steve,” you told him with a giggle.

He reached up and tilted your chin to look him in the eye again. “Do you think I’m kidding you, Roxy?” he asked, and chuckled at himself softly. You didn’t mind it; you knew it would be some time before he remembered to use your real name. “You’re stunning,” he went on. “But it’s more than that. You’re… you’re _you_. You’re my girl. I love you. And the fact that I get to tell you that while I’m holdin’ you? Best thing I could ever hope for.”

You couldn’t respond. The weight of it was too heavy, raw emotion weighing down on you. You chose to tell him without words what you were feeling, dipping your head towards him just enough for him to understand what you wanted.

Steve paused just before his lips touched yours, exhaling a soft warm breath against you before closing the distance. He was so gentle, his touch sweet and chaste, and you saw his eyes close, long lashes fanning over his cheeks; your own eyes fluttered shut and you sighed at the pleasant pressure of his kiss. He held you close, one arm drifting to wrap around your waist and the other cupping your cheek. You felt the soft wet touch of his tongue along the seam of your lips and you sighed again, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him that little bit closer as he deepened the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, his lips were kiss-swollen and slick; you knew yours must be the same. Steve’s eyes opened to reveal a blue that had gone deep and dark, and you you smiled, pressing your forehead against his, content in knowing that you had found the love of your life.

 

_Good evening, loyal listeners. It’s Saturday night and the city is alive, and that can only mean one thing here at WKQX: it’s time for the Late Night Broken Hearts Club. As always, I am your host, Roxy Carmichael, hoping this week went well for all of you listening out there tonight. I can say I had a pretty good week myself, so let’s get started with a feel-good ballad from the 80’s while I wait for all of your calls and emails to come in tonight. Remember, we’re taking all of your requests and would love to hear from you. First up is Madonna with ‘Crazy For You’, and baby, I think you already know this one is for you._


	12. Chapter 12

You moved slowly. You didn’t want to overwhelm yourself, and Steve seemed to understand that. Much as you wanted to jump headfirst into a relationship -- not that you didn’t believe what you and Steve had developed over the months wasn’t a real relationship, but adding a physical aspect was a huge leap. So you took things at an easy pace.

You managed an entire week and a half before you spent the night with him.

It had been an ordinary enough day; you saw Steve daily now, waiting for you with a smile when your workday ended, ready to drive you home on his motorcycle, or take you out if you were feeling up to it. That night he had offered to make you dinner, and though he made no further advances than the usual heavy petting the two of you often got up to -- on your couch, his couch, leaned against his bike outside of your apartment, the back row of a movie theater, and one particularly memorable occasion in the elevator at the Tower -- something clicked inside of you and you knew it was the right moment to give in to what you had been wanting for so long.

Steve’s hands trembled as he undressed you. It wasn’t nerves; even you felt strangely calm, no sense of the anxiousness that had plagued you since you first thought of one day meeting your mystery caller in person. You thought perhaps it was the enormity of the moment. You’d fallen in love months ago, the physical side of your relationship on hold for seeming an eternity. Now you were going to change that. The moment was more emotional than you had expected.

His smiles were shy as he carefully unbuttoned your blouse, deep red silk opening to reveal a delicate lace bra in a shade of baby blue, one that he had seen before in teasing photos you had sent hit way. Steve sucked in a breath as his eyes drank you in and paused in his ministrations to pull you close and kiss you deeply, the low rumble of a moan in his throat drawing out goosebumps on your skin.

“Planning ahead?” he asked when he pulled away, pretty mouth curling up into a teasing smirk.

You shrugged. “Happy accident,” you responded with a smile.

He was unerringly gently as he stripped you down, the slow torture of allowing him to be the one to pull at your buttons and clasps, draping each article of clothing over the bench at the foot of his bed, next to where you stood. Steve was drawing it out, not just to make you wait and drive up your anticipation, but to make a solid impression of the night, committing every detail to memory. 

You’d divested him of his shirt as soon as you entered the quiet coolness of the bedroom, tossing it aside with not nearly as much care; you loved to run your hands over his chest, feel the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips, and love the way he closed his eyes and sighed at the touch. Steve groaned when you placed a soft kiss just below his collarbone, his hands stilling on your hips where he’d been intent on driving you mad, rolling down the zipper on your skirt at a glacial pace. He gripped you tight and close against him, his excitement more than obvious when you pressed in close.

“Steve,” you said, voice soft and a little pleading. “Don’t make me wait anymore.”

He grinned down at you. “If you insist,” he agreed, and lifted you clear up off the floor, carrying you the short distance to lay you out on his bed.

You giggled and reached for the zipper to your skirt, half-open on the side of your hip, but Steve was on you in an instant, pushing your hand away.

“No, please,” he said. “Let me.”

Steve kissed you while he continued to undress you, breaking away from your lips only to free you of the garment, sliding down to lift your hips and pull the straight black pencil skirt down your legs, tossing it a little more recklessly than he had your blouse. He kissed his way back up your legs, pausing to nip at the soft skin at the join of your hip and your thigh, smiling against your skin when you gasped.

“You’re such a tease,” you told him, pushing at the waistband of his jeans as soon as your hands could reach.

“Only for you, gorgeous,” Steve told you, laughter turning to groans when you finally got your hands into his jeans.

He took you gentle and slow at first, pressed into the soft pillows on his bed. It felt like his eyes never left your face, his arms a constant safe pressure around you. Your name was on his lips with every rock of your joined bodies, your hands tangled in his hair. It had never felt like this, not with anyone you’d been with before.

It felt like completion.

It felt like _home_.

 

You felt like everyone was staring at you when you entered the charity gala on Steve’s arm. Even though it was held in a Tower ballroom and you were able to skip the red carpet walk that you had feared, you were surrounded by the members of the press that Tony had invited as soon as you stepped in the door. Steve seemed to handle it well enough, quickly shuttling you past them and into the crowd.

The dress was a gift from Tony: long and red and flowing, somehow perfectly cut and tailored for you, even though you never went to a fitting. When you tried to thank him, Tony had simply brushed off your words of gratitude. 

“You make the old man happy,” he said with a shrug. “That’s enough. And for the love of god, _stop_ calling me ‘Mr. Stark’.” 

You had laughed and agreed: it would be ‘Tony’ from there on out.

“You look amazing tonight, doll,” Steve told you with a smile. The way he looked at you sometimes could steal your breath away; it was like you were the only one in the room, even in the crush of such a crowd.

You blushed. “I could say the same to you, baby,” you agreed, straightening a nonexistent wrinkle in the lapels of his tuxedo. He ducked his head and smile. Pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, he nodded towards one of the many bars lining the ballroom.

“Sit tight for a second, and I’ll get us some drinks, okay?” he asked, and you nodded mutely, watching him disappear into the crowd. You felt suddenly a little lost in the large, crowded room, and stuck to the place where Steve had left you, content to wait -- until you heard someone call your name, and you looked up in surprise.

In all honesty, you hadn’t expected to see him ever again. The last time you had laid eyes on Adam had been the day you hauled the last cardboard boxes out of your shared apartment and into the tiny basement flat you had to take right after your breakup. Part of you had feared such a meeting, thinking your heart would break anew just looking at his face and remember his betrayal but you were surprised to find yourself feeling… nothing.

No hurt. No heartbreak. Not even any residual anger.

“Adam, wow!” you exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled and tapped the press badge that dangled from his neck. “I’m working for the Post now,” he explained. “But hey, look at you! You look amazing. How did you even get into something like this?”

Same old Adam, you realized; completely tactless. Funny, you thought, that you had been so hung up on him once. 

Before you could even speak, he said, “Oh, wait, that’s right! I heard you were crunching numbers at Stark Industries these days. You win some kind of office raffle to get a ticket?”

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Steve cut in, pressing a chilled drink into your hand. You smiled when you glanced down, realizing it was a mojito; you had told Steve all about Lilly’s attempts to weasel information about him out of you with copious amounts of mixed drinks.

“Not a problem,” you told him, and nodded towards your ex-boyfriend. “Steve, I want you to meet someone,” you said.

Steve smiled quizzically and reached out to shake the other man’s hand. “Steve Rogers,” he said in greeting. “And you are…?”

Adam seemed too surprised to speak, so you smiled and filled in the blanks. “Steve,” you said quietly, “This is Adam.”

The name rang a bell with Steve almost immediately and his grip tightened on the other man’s hand. Not enough to break anything, thankfully, but definitely causing some pain, by the way Adam winced when his hand was finally released.

“It’s… uh… nice to meet you?” Adam said, clearly not too convinced of it.

“I was just about to tell Adam that I no longer work for Stark Industries,” you explained. Turning back to your ex, you smiled. “I actually put in my notice a little over a week ago.”

“You know how it is,” Steve told him, slipping an arm around your waist. “It’s a little much to be working _and_ living in the same building. We should probably mingle, but it was nice to meet you, Alan.”

You snorted to yourself and let Steve lead you away into the crowd.

“Now there’s a man,” Steve said low, leaning to speak into your ear, “That has no idea what a jewel he gave up, or how little he deserved you in the first place.”

You closed the small distance between the two of you and kissed him, chaste and sweet. “And here’s a man who has no idea how glad I am that I found him.”

"Oh, sweetheart," Steve crooned softly. "The feeling is mutual."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Son of a bee sting. _ONE_ chapter after this, honestly. An epilogue.


	13. Chapter 13

_If you’re just tuning in tonight, here on WKQX, you’re listening to the Late Night Broken Hearts Club. As always, I am your host, Roxy Carmichael, here to take your song requests and hear your stories so please, give me call and send me your dedications. That last song was Michael Buble with ‘Home’, going out from Leo to Piper, with the message that he hates to be away so much and hopes to be with her again soon. It’s rough to be away from the one you love -- even worse tonight, I think, so all of our good thoughts are with you both. We all know what today is -- Valentine’s Day, and the first time the Late Night Broken Heart’s Club has fallen on the holiday itself. Don’t worry, I wasn’t about to leave you behind when you needed me most. We have another dedication next, this one a Grammy nominated cover of a classic Jay Hawkins track, performed by Jeff Beck and Joss Stone. It’s going out from Adalind to Nick tonight, ‘I Put a Spell On You’._

Karen cued the track for you and you smiled, seeing the On Air light flick off in your booth. You were sitting on the floor, grateful the long arm of your microphone could be bent forward and down to accommodate the position, your headset skewed to the side so only one ear was covered. As soon as he saw the indicator light go out, Steve smiled from where he sat cuddled up close beside you, and immediately went back to what he had been doing before you had to speak on air, namely nibbling a spectacular mark onto the pulse point on your neck. You sighed and closed your eyes, enjoying the attention as you reached up to push your fingers through his hair.

Steve had been disappointed when he realized that Valentine’s Day fell on a Saturday this year, ensuring that you would be working an extra long set on the Broken Heart’s Club on the holiday. Karen, your producer, had suggested running a tape from the prior year’s show, but you had been adamant; your listeners, the ones who tuned in every week, would need you tonight. You were now broadcasting four weekday evenings, a simple request show, alongside your Broken Hearts flagship show, and your listeners had gotten you there; you weren’t about to abandon them. Steve understood, and tried to hide his disappointment. You promised him that you’d celebrate the following night.

Still, he insisted on accompanying you in to the station that night, driving you there himself in a car borrowed from Tony, parking in the garage and walking you right up to the door. He’d done it once or twice before, so you didn’t expect a thing until you made it to the studio itself.

The first indication that something was up were the blinds. Your on-air booth was separated from Karen’s side by a plate glass window; long vertical blinds had hung there since you first started at WKQX and you had never once seen them closed, not until tonight. You gave Karen a questioning look but she just smiled and shrugged. Your curiosity made you forget even that Steve was walking right beside you, and you pushed open the door to your booth only to gasp at the sight before you.

The lights were out in your booth but it glowed with the flickering of candles placed all around, on the floor, on your console, even on the windowsill; your panic at the thought of wax on the expensive equipment in the room was soon stilled upon realizing that they were plastic, with battery operated flames, and you smiled that he’d thought to make that concession. The floor was covered with a thick red blanket and several darker red throw pillows; a bouquet of deep red and white roses, intermixed with sprays of baby breath, sat in a crystal vase on the windowsill. There was an old-fashioned wicker picnic basket waiting on the blanket, and beside it a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Steve leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “You didn’t really think I’d leave my girl to work all alone on our anniversary, did you?”

That had been a couple hours ago. Steve had stayed with you throughout the show, talking in a low whisper when you were off the air and insisting on hand-feeding you treats from the picnic basket he had brought: cheese, fruit, chocolates, all of it chased with a crisp white wine and long, deep kisses. He nuzzled at you when you took requests and did song intros -- though you were doing little of the work besides using your voice, Karen handling everything from her side of the console, like the amazing coworker and friend that she was. 

It was the best Valentine’s Day you had ever spent; you knew it would never be topped, and you couldn’t fathom a way to make it any better.

You heard the last notes of the current song begin to fade and pressed your fingertip to Steve’s lips, watching for the On Air sign to light and frowning when it didn’t. Instead, Karen’s voice came over the mic.

“We have a very special request tonight, Roxy,” she spoke up. Karen had begun her career in broadcast as a radio dj herself and spoke with a pleasant, low voice, perfectly suited for radio. “Don’t worry, folks, Roxy is still here with us, but a good friend of the Late Night Broken Heart’s Club asked me to do this special dedication tonight.”

You frowned and peeked up over the console, forgetting for a moment that the blinds were closed. Steve tugged on the hem of your sweater, pulling you back down into his arms. He was smiling at you, soft and open in a way that always made your heart melt. When you opened your mouth to ask what was happening, he arched and eyebrow and pressed a finger to your lips, mimicking your own movements from moments ago.

“He asked me to read this email before playing his request tonight, so here goes,” Karen went on. 

“‘Dear Roxy; The night I first called in to your show, I was heartbroken and grieving. I had spent most of my life alone and it seemed when I finally found someone who could see the real me, I lost her. I didn’t think I’d ever feel that way about anyone, ever again.

“‘I guess fate had something else in store for me, because I found a wonderful woman who turned out to be everything I could ever have wanted. She made me smile at a time in my life when I didn’t think anything could break the gloomy fog I was in. Just hearing her voice could make my day. She saw me, the real me, when it seemed no one else could. Last Valentine’s Day, I decided to take a leap of faith, hoping she would too. I think that was the day I realized that I was falling in love with her.

You closed your eyes to stem the tide of tears that threatened to spill over; Steve stayed cuddled close beside you, and squeezed your hand.

“‘I just wanted to say thank you, Roxy. Without you, I don’t know where either of us would be now. Tonight’s a special night for us. You see, we kind consider it our anniversary. I have a real important question I need to ask her, and I was hoping you’d play a song for us before I do. It’s not the usual kind of thing you play but it’s real special and I hoped you’d make an exception. It’ll never sound as sweet as the night she sang it for me, but I want her to hear it too this time.’”

Karen cleared her throat on the air, something a seasoned broadcast professional should never do, but it seemed she couldn’t help it; her voice was thick with emotion when she spoke again.

“So here’s the song, by special request, going out to one of our favorite listeners here at the Late Night Broken Hearts Club. This is Ella Fitzgerald with ‘My Funny Valentine’.”

Steve whispered your name, so close that you felt the warm caress of his breath on your cheek as he spoke. You were trembling in his arms, your eyes still closed, even as you felt him take your left hand in his and slide a ring up your finger; the metal was warm, held in his pocket long enough to take on his body heat.

“Please,” he said quietly. “I know it seems fast, but… please say yes?”

You thought about the words Karen had read for him, about the leap of faith you’d both ended up taking once before. It had brought you here, to this moment.

You were smiling when you opened your eyes, taking his face in your hands to trace your emphatic _yes_ upon his lips.

 

_That’s it for us tonight, folks, and what a night it has been. Valentine’s Day is always special here at the Late Night Broken Heart’s Club, and I hope we were able to heal a few of our heartsick listeners tonight. If not, you know where you can find us next week, so tune right in and we’ll try our special kind of magic once again. As always, I’m your host, Roxy Carmichael, and baby, I can’t wait to celebrate Valentine’s with you all over again next year, and every year after that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flail*  
> *collapse*
> 
> Whew. That one was a doozy, but what fun, eh? Just for shiggles, here's a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLEvqqxYHrmtOSpd3kXfeIA8NmiZT97E8I) of every song that's mentioned. 
> 
> If you're looking for more Steve/Reader goodness, please check out [Gods of New York](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8383210/chapters/19204816), which I will begin working on with earnest now that this one is complete. I have a Bucky-centric Mafia-AU plot bunny hopping around as well, god help me.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, folks :)


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